


Frat Brats

by yourfrenben



Series: Spicy DNF Oneshots (AU Only) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, College Experimentation, Drunk Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Help how do I tag, I don’t use the Words, Lime, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, NSFW, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Smut, Smutshots, Sweet/Hot, best friends being gay, it doesn’t go that far, oneshots, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27870845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourfrenben/pseuds/yourfrenben
Summary: College Experimentation AUDream gets drunk and runs into a problem. George runs into Dream and said problem in an empty bedroom. Cue “you need some help with that?” but it’s softer and more careful
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), dreamnotfound - Relationship, gream - Relationship
Series: Spicy DNF Oneshots (AU Only) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040513
Comments: 15
Kudos: 567
Collections: you've read this fucker :]





	Frat Brats

**Author's Note:**

> yes hello this was originally part of my DNF ONESHOTS: AU EDITION book on Wattpad under @yourfrenben
> 
> all other projects on there are SFW but they kinda slap so pls check them out UwU thanks 
> 
> ALSO:::: no penetration in this chap, this was my first (second??) attempt at writing NSFW so I wanted to ease into it

"God, this shit's so fucking nasty," George shuddered as he tossed back a shot.

"Why are you drinking it, then?" Clay wheezed, leaning on the counter to stabilize himself.

"I've already come this far..." the brunet slurred, slamming his shotglass onto the marble kitchen island and refilling it with a stream of blue tequila. 

Clay looked around the room, taking in the choppy sea of college students that filled it to the brim. Wall-to-wall, the floor was covered with discarded solo cups and paper streamers, all of which were being trampled as the crowd bounced to some EDM beat that was blasting out of a speaker set. The floor shook either from the heavy bass or from the myriad of foot stomps in the mob. Clay had to close his eyes for a second, feeling the alcohol make its way up his throat from the dizziness the scene brought.

He wasn't really a drinker, but this was his first fraternity party and his new brothers insisted on it. In the group's law book, sobriety was a sin. 

Clay inhaled deeply, hoping for some clean air but instead getting a lungful of sweat and booze. He scrunched his nose, letting his eyes open. Beside him, George took another shot, hissing and sticking his tongue out after swallowing. Clay chuckled, watching the Brit as he fumbled around the island for a chaser. He grabbed a random piece of bread from a snack bowl, tearing it off with his teeth.

George was even less of a drinker than Clay, but once he got going, he was somewhat unstoppable. For the nine solid years they'd known each other, Clay was unable to get used to who George became when liquor replaced the blood in his veins. He acted mostly sober, regardless of how much he would drink, but his confidence would skyrocket, breaking through the roof and looping around the moon. It was always a ride, seeing the usually timid and clever George turn into a horndog who'd serenade the room with karaoke— with fairly good vocals, no less.

Clay smiled fondly as George loopily danced in place in time with a bass drop. It would be a matter of minutes before he would leave Clay's side in favour of approaching a random girl and disappearing into a room for an hour or two. It happened at every party; George patting Clay's shoulder as a sign he had some business to attend to, and then Clay was left to fend for himself. This also happened at parties where no girls were present, and situations like those left Clay wondering where George ran off to. 

The song changed to a popular electro-pop tune, causing the crowd to cheer a bit and pick up their pace. Clay turned his attention to the booth, watching the party again. Off to the side, closer to the kitchen, a couple danced by themselves, grinding and rubbing in tune to the song. The man held his hands firmly on his girlfriend's hips as she swivelled around, a confident smile on her lined lips. Clay wasn't sure if he was intrigued with the guy or the girl.

The guy was dressed in loose jeans and a red sleeveless tank that hung off his broad shoulders. The armholes were stylistically large, showing sneaks of a built chest that lay under the fabric. The way he hungrily clung to his date was emphasized by the muscles that flexed in his forearms. Clay bit his lip, scanning him from his shoes to the top of his head. The girl was hot, too, but she wasn't really Clay's type.

"Are we looking at the same thing?" came a voice next to his ear.

The blond shook his head, looking up at the flaky ceiling. George tittered, elbowing Clay's side with one arm while attempting to pour himself yet another shot. 

"Chick's hot," Clay lied, grabbing the shotglass out of George's hand and downing it despite his muted protest.

"Huh? Oh," George shrugged, adamantly emptying the bottle into his mouth.

The way he responded made Clay look over. They were both talking about the girl, weren't they? George shut his eyes again, throwing his arms in the air and pumping his fists to the music. Through the hazy beat, a chant erupted from the other side of the room, growing louder as more people chimed in.

"Dream Team, Dream Team," the crowd shouted in time, forming a small circle in the corner. It looked like some kind of mid-party mosh pit, but as Clay narrowed his eyes to focus, he realized it was more of a VIP huddle.

"Where's all my brothers at?" a guy yelled over the heads of the crowd, "gather round, gather round! Everyone give it up for the best frat on campus— Dream Team 2020!"

"Isn't that the dude," George squinted, snapping his fingers to jog his memory, "the— the— your frat president?"

"Nick, yeah," Clay said, straightening up to see the commotion.

Nick made eye contact with Clay, beckoning him over to the circle. Clay threw up a peace sign, pushing off the counter and maneuvering through the crowd. He got into the makeshift arena, led by Nick's hand as it pulled his shoulders. He recognized the other guys in the circle to be his fraternity brothers and he stood between them, grinning as he asked what was going on.

"Dream Team," the chant continued as Nick passed each of them a red solo cup overflowing with liquid.

"Bottoms up, boys," Nick yelled over the noise, "welcome to your initiation!"

"I thought we were already initiated," Clay yelled back, sniffing the suspicious contents in his cup.

"You are; this is just the coronation party, my friend!"

The Dream Team chant echoed loud in his ears as the crowd around him laughed and pumped their arms in the air. Beside him, his friends started drinking, and Clay followed suit. The cocktail tasted nasty, with notes of vodka, rum, and dark beer swirling over his tongue. It was as if a blind bartender made a concoction with whatever bottle he had within reach. Clay grinned regardless, trying to catch rogue drops as some of the drink spilled onto the floor. Around him, the chants turned from Dream Team to Chug, and the brothers did as they were told.

His throat seared, but Clay didn't let up until the last gulp left the cup empty. He slammed it down onto the floor, taking in the cheers of the crowd as they washed over him. His action was followed by the rest of the boys, each of them throwing their own cups down and hollering. Nick shrieked in celebration, slapping the guys on the back as they ran off into the crowd to continue dancing.

Clay stumbled out of the sea of drunkards, wheezing happily as he made his way back to the stability of the kitchen. When he reached the island, he paused, realizing George was nowhere to be seen. Clay groaned, draping himself over the cold marble. He scanned the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of his best friend, but his vision failed him. He sighed, closing his eyes and hiccupping. 

It wasn't as fun to stand in the kitchen by himself, and the abundance of terrible alcohol in his stomach was making the shaking floor feel sickening, so Clay peeled away from the kitchen and slowly made his way up the stairs. A few people stood on the steps, chatting or making out. He snaked around them, clinging onto the bannister and giggling at nothing. He wasn't even sure whose house the party was at, but he doubted they'd mind if he used a spare room for a breather.

Clay checked every door on the upper floor, finding the areas to be either the bathroom, a closet, or an occupied den. Finally, he reached the end of the hall and found the door open, revealing an empty bedroom. He sulked in, closing the door behind him and collapsing onto the bed. There was a half-empty water bottle on the nightstand, and he sniffed the contents to make sure it wasn't a masked drink. With a large swig, he felt the warm aqua wash the burning from his throat, settling his stomach.

He pulled out his phone, debating texting George, but decided against it. He was probably busy doing his drunk George deeds. Clay chuckled, wishing alcohol did the same for his own confidence. If that was the case, maybe he would have done a lot of things he wanted to do, like asking a girl for her number at the bar, or pinning George to a wall years ago, and...

Clay rubbed his eyes, wrapping a pillow around his face. It's the booze, he thought, that's all it is. Despite telling himself that, Clay knew it wasn't the truth. He wasn't even that drunk— he had the equivalent of half a bottle of vodka the entire night. His thoughts came clear as day, amplified only slightly by the rush of cheap alcohol in his bloodstream. He couldn't help but hyperfocus on the fact that he was alone in the bedroom, with George being somewhere in another room, presumably fucking a random girl, getting all over her as she left scratches down his back. Clay rubbed his legs together, feeling uneasy tension spread over his hips. Was he jealous of George? No, jealous of the girl he was with.

The jealousy came second, though. It was overshadowed by lust. Clay exhaled in frustration as his jeans tightened. He desperately tried to push the image of George out of his mind, but he lay in the bed, thinking of how the brunet was moving between the sheets; the sounds he was making at this very moment...

Clay snapped up, sliding to the foot of the bed. He gripped himself through the denim, somewhat calming the stiffness with a bit of friction. His eyes stung at the harsh light of the ceiling lamp, but his vision was no longer bleary. The alcohol was cheaper than he initially thought, offering little to no lasting intoxication. Clay could blame the liquor for his haste sobriety, but he could just as easily chalk it up to the cursed feelings that bubbled to the surface after months of suppression. Clay knew he wasn't gay; he swore by it. But he didn't have to be gay, per se. There was just something— that little something, nagging at the back of his brain, urging him in the opposite direction.

He bit his lip, running a hand over his jeans. He felt himself twitch under the fabric, cursing under his breath. At that moment, the door drew open softly, and Clay hurriedly looked up to see George leaning on the doorway. The brit smiled down at him lightly, snaking into the room and letting the door close behind him.

Clay leaned over himself, casually covering the tent in his jeans. George didn't seem to notice as he approached and plopped down on the bed beside him. 

"Had enough?" George asked, smirking as he scanned Clay's flushed face.

"Hmm?" Clay looked over, trying to remain calm.

"The drinks. I saw that little chug party in the corner."

"Yeah, whatever was in those cups was vile."

George laughed, ruffling his dark hair. In the room below, the music got turned up a bit, blasting through the plank floorboards and surrounding the bedroom with a dull buzz. 

"Where did you go?" Clay asked, gritting his teeth slightly.

George sighed, running his gaze over Clay's face. The blond held his breath, hoping George's sight wouldn't dip down to the bulge he was trying to hide.

"Just somewhere," George answered, shrugging.

Clay felt unsatisfied with the reply. He couldn't help but let his mind wander to what George left unsaid. Maybe tomorrow, when they were both hungover, George would find joy in recounting the events of this night and telling Clay about how much fun he had tangled under a blanket with some lucky lady. 

"What was her name, at least?" Clay chuckled painfully.

George rolled his eyes, gripping the blanket under him and balling it in his fist. 

"It wasn't—" he whispered, pausing as if to hype himself up, "it wasn't a girl."

Clay's eyes grew wide as he registered his words. He muttered an 'oh' as George stared at the wall. 

"We didn't do anything," George admitted, "I chickened out."

Clay wanted to comfort George— tell him that it didn't matter who he was into, ask him if he was questioning— but his throat closed up, tightness in his pants growing more severe. This was truly not the best time to be having such a conversation. Clay bit his tongue, hard, forcing himself to ignore the ache in his groin.

"I think I wanted to, though," George said almost inaudibly. He tensed up a little, leaning onto his palms and stretching his legs out in front of him. He let out a shaky breath just as the music below halted, causing it to be much more audible than Clay would have liked. The sigh drifted by his ear, making him curl in on himself even harder. At this point, George seemed to catch on, and he watched Clay questioningly. 

"Do you?" he asked, mouth hanging open ever so slightly.

Clay breathed out, refusing to look over. Instead, he straightened up slowly, removing his hand from where it covered his bulge. He was painfully hard by now, aching for any kind of touch. George said nothing as his gaze fell to Clay's lap. He looked on for a long while, fingers stroking the blanket at his sides. Clay twisted his head over microscopically, hoping to catch a glimpse of George's expression.

He saw his friend's face out of the corner of his eye, flushed and deep in thought. For a moment, they stopped breathing, all movement ceasing in the room. Right after, though, George slowly slid his hand across the bed, climbing it onto Clay's thigh. He inched it over the fabric, landing over his zipper. Clay took a sharp breath, a twitch visible under the denim. 

His arms trembled as George rubbed the area, curling his fingers excruciatingly slowly over the bulge. Clay spread his legs a bit, leaning back on his palms to stabilize himself. He wanted to process the situation and think critically if this was truly happening and if it should be happening, but the fire in his groin was far too distracting. He wanted to be in the moment, so he let go and took his malfunctioning brain along for the ride.

George swallowed, shifting closer to Clay along the edge of the bed. He shot looks from his lap to his face, searching for any signs of discomfort. Clay was breathing heavily, staring at the hand that rubbed at his jeans. He bit his lip, sucking in a shuddering breath. The sight made George's blood start working its way down his body. 

Slowly, George's hand undid Clay's zipper, sliding the hem of his jeans down. Clay closed his eyes, tipping his head back as a warm touch slid under the waistband of his boxers. George's fingers wrapped around him, gently running up and down. His index brushed Clay's tip, causing a wave of pleasure to rock his abdomen. Clay moaned silently, scrunching his face.

The sound made George's mouth water. He kept running over the same area, drinking the small whines that escaped Clay's throat. With his other hand, George pressed on his own groin, feeling himself through his shorts. He didn't expect the arousal to be so prominent. 

Clay shuddered under his touch, bucking his hips ever so slightly. George took the chance to pull at the hem of Clay's boxers, bringing them down to reveal the hard-on underneath. Clay gasped slightly as cool air fanned over him, and he looked over at George for the first time since they began. George's eyes were set on his lap, gaze hungrily running up and down his length. Clay stifled another moan as George's hand started moving, encompassing his entire shaft in warmth. His tip was already wet, dripping slightly from the overflowing buildup of arousal. George's thumb ghosted over the area momentarily, but it was enough for a pulse of pleasure to shudder out. Clay whimpered loudly, biting down on his tongue and rocking his hips upward.

George sucked in a breath beside him, right hand beginning to mirror the action of his left one. He toyed with his own erection, snaking a hand under his shorts. Not once did he look away from Clay's hard-on— it was too enticing, roping him in with the slight twitches and pink tip that glistened with precum. 

George stopped moving his hand, shifting on the bed. Clay opened his eyes, glancing over with a half-lidded gaze. He was met with George's own as they made eye contact, a question gleaming in the brunet's irises. Clay nodded lightly, staring up at the ceiling as George got off the bed.

The brit situated himself on the floor, wordlessly sinking to his knees between Clay's legs. He licked his lips, impatiently lacing his fingers around the shaft at his eye level. George stroked up and down again, holding one hand on Clay's thigh to push his legs apart. As soon as the movement returned, Clay relaxed and tensed again, feeling his abdomen flush with want. He gripped the sheets in each hand, keeping his eyes on the ceiling until hot breath hit his tip. Wetness enveloped his hard-on, causing his toes to curl. 

George bobbed his head, swirling his tongue around his friend's erection. Laboured breathing came from above, and paired with the steady rounding of the hips under his head, it was invigorating. George slowly leaned all the way down, hitting the back of his throat. It felt glazed over as George came up again, sleek with dripping precum. The skin tasted salty, mixing with George's saliva. It was burning hot in his mouth, made even more so by the rubbing and licking that the brunet delivered.

Clay let one hand off the blanket, tangling it instead in George's hair. The brit hummed at the sensation, sending an incredible vibration down Clay's shaft. Clay groaned, tightening his grip. It was hard to imagine anything more pleasurable that what he was experiencing at this moment. He had considered himself somewhat vanilla when it came to intimacy, yet here he was, at a random party, getting sucked off by a guy he's known for a decade. And it turned him on like nothing else.

George came up for air momentarily before lowering his lips onto Clay's tip. He stroked the length with one hand while wrapping his mouth around the top, flicking his tongue against the slit. This seemed to really do the trick.

"Oh my God—" Clay moaned, pulling George's hair, "holy fuck..."

George kept going, picking up speed. With his free hand, he lowered his shorts, finally springing his own hard-on free. He stroked himself vigorously, easing the burning tension that gripped his groin. Clay's whimpers made a home in his ears, each one sending a rush of blood to his already rock-hard erection.

Suddenly, Clay pulled George's head up, separating the brit from his hard-on. George looked up in concern, but Clay's expression was flushed and lusty. He grabbed George by the hand as he began to crawl backwards across the bed, taking him with him. George got off the floor, following Clay until the blond was leaned against the backboard, legs extended on the bed. George watched, blushing, as Clay lowered his jeans a bit more and reached out to place his hands on George's hips.

George let himself be pulled up to Clay's lap, sitting with his legs on either side of Clay's thighs. The waistband of the brit's shorts was still pulled under his erection, leaving it out in the open. Clay looked down, wrapping his arms around George's waist and pulling him closer until their shafts made contact.

"Do you really want to do this?" George whispered when he realized what Clay was doing, "Here? Now?"

"We won't go all the way," Clay said, wrapping his fingers around both himself and George. 

He panted at the way George gasped at the contact. Now that they sat face-to-face on the bed, Clay could see George's sweet reactions. The brunet shut his eyes, knitting his brow as Clay began to rub up and down their lengths. George dug his nails into Clay's shoulders, scratching at the skin under his shirt. His hips moved rhythmically against Clay's, in sync with the pumps that shook their shafts. Clay let out a heavy breath, looking between George's stimulated face and the way their two erections rubbed against each other. 

When he looked up again, George's eyes were open, head thrown back. He moaned softly, biting his lip. As Clay's finger ran across both of their tips, George let out a loud whine, harshly digging his nails into the back of Clay's neck. In the same action, he pulled himself closer, resting his forehead against Clay's. 

A hum resonated out of Clay's throat and he wrapped his left arm tighter around his friend. He continued palming at their laps, floating in the close moans that George was sighing out. Lost in the moment, Clay lifted his chin up and connected his lips to George's, planting a heated kiss against his mouth. George held onto Clay's neck, immediately kissing back. Fingers stroked the slit of his tip again, and George moaned into the kiss, feeling Clay quicken his pace from the stimulation. He peeled away, breathing heavily as he felt the blond's hips start to buck underneath.

"George," Clay muttered, suppressing another whine, "I'm gonna cum."

George responded to that by dipping his head down, biting at Clay's neck. He was incredibly close, too.

The stroking underneath got faster and faster, Clay arching his back. His breathing got choppy, echoing in George's ears.

"Fuck," George hissed as he felt the climax in his gut start to swell, "fuck, Clay, keep going—"

With the last few hard pumps, Clay let out a groan, streams of cum dripping out of his tip. They sped down his hand, coating George in wet warmth. He bit Clay's neck again just as an orgasm shook his hips. Clay kept rubbing as George came, feeling a moan press against his neck. A wave of pleasure rocked his core, pulsing up his spine. George leaned back, supporting himself on his palms as he locked his elbows. He arched his back, breathing heavily. 

Clay leaned against the backboard, using the cool wood to chill his skin. He removed his hand, wiping it haphazardly on the side of his jeans. He'd worry about the stains later. On top of him, George pulled his shorts back up, working to catch his breath. Clay did the same, folding himself under his jeans and zipping them up. He ran a clean hand through his hair, wiping the sweat that formed at his hairline. 

They remained in place, unsure of what to do next. Neither of them knew what to say, but they knew something had to be done. Clay looked up at his friend, feeling an intense blush creep up his cheeks.

"Wow," George was the first to speak. Clay chuckled nervously, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

"I guess we, uh, learned a few things today," Clay whispered.

"How do you feel?" George asked cautiously. His eyes were flooded with fear, and Clay felt himself involuntarily reach out and place a hand on his thigh. 

"Um... good," he breathed, "really good."

"Hmm," George nodded, "yeah, okay. Me too."

"Okay, so...?" Clay said quietly, licking his lips. 

George said nothing else, but his gaze flicked down to the lower half of Clay's face. He placed a hand to where Clay's was resting on his thigh, weaving their fingers together across the cotton of his shorts. Slowly, George leaned in, placing a much softer kiss on Clay's lips. He felt a smile spread under him, moving sweetly.

"And that?" George whispered into the kiss, "how was that?"

"Really good," Clay repeated, eyes still closed and a grin on his lips.

George finally pulled away fully, taking his time glancing across Clay's body. His lips were slightly chapped, having been held apart for so long, but they also buzzed where Clay had bit them during their playtime. George smiled, running a finger against his cupid's bow. He could definitely get used to this.

"Do you wanna head back?" Clay asked, nodding towards the door.

George thought for a moment, listening to the steady beats that echoed from the speakers. 

"Nah, I think we have a lot to discuss."

"Yeah, you're right," Clay smiled, patting George's thigh.


End file.
